Sunday, May 27, 2012

A Dozen Little Arrows

Clouds hang grey and heavy with condensation,
A windy setting, anything but calm.
Above me proves an alluring scene,
A school of birds weaving invisible lines in the sky.

Longing to be there with them, I watch their dance,
Tracing patterned paths with eager russet eyes.
Back and forth they soar, streaking like shooting stars,
A dozen little arrows hitting their mark. 

Born free and winged for this very moment,
For this timeless world all their own.
Flying bold and content in the face of wind,
An enchanted game between gusts and wings.

Reluctantly, eyes are torn away from the serendipitious scene,
Tracing the path ahead with oblivious glances.
One step, and then another, leads further away,
Yet the enchantment lingers, as a final gust pushes me inside.